Barista Blues
by The Mocking J
Summary: Clark works at the campus coffee shop... Sadly, this isn't some alternate universe. This is Clark's life. His life gets a whole lot better when he meets Brenda.


**Set: **Back in the Gressenheller days.

**Spoilers: **None

* * *

**Barista Blues**

"This contains whole milk! I asked for a skinny latte with skim milk!"

Clark smiled through clenched teeth. "Are you sure?" Inside, he wondered, Are you sane?

The woman was freaking out over a cup of coffee. What were the chances she was a Drama student?

Wavy blonde hair, model-worthy attire, flawless makeup while everyone around her looked like they'd just fallen out of bed… The common folk were little more than extras in the story of her life.

Cue Clark to start the Rising Conflict. Needless to say, he wanted no part in this.

Clark would have been sympathetic if she had a food allergy or a heart condition that forced her to drink decaf coffee. (His own mother was afflicted by the latter.)

There were plenty of times he had mixed up people's orders during his first few months working at the campus coffee shop. He would always apologise profusely, put the order right and offer free coffees in compensation, which came straight out of his paycheque.

His manager, Jonah took vicious joy in disciplining Clark, whether it was through cleaning the toilets, taking out the bins or staying late to close up shop.

It wasn't as if they had two other baristas on hand to help. Oh, no. Paul just had to take a smoke break every five minutes for the benefit of his health. And Mabel couldn't miss her afternoon nap in the office...

As a result, Clark bore the brunt of Jonah's frustration and the majority of their disgruntled customers.

His days became marginally brighter whenever his friends dropped by to see him.

Hershel was Clark's most frequent visitor. He would buy a cup of earl grey (as if they didn't already have tonnes of teabags at home) and chat with Clark for a bit before sitting down quietly to read.

The gang from the Gaming Society were more… sociable. Jonah, claiming they were a 'distraction', had banned them from playing board games in the coffee shop.

Even Dr. Schrader would occasionally pop in for an espresso. Apparently, the staffroom was overcrowded and their coffee supplies had gone extinct. Schrader would share his complaints with Clark and toss a couple of coins into the empty tip jar on the counter.

Regrettably, Clark hadn't received any visitors or tips today… right when he really would have appreciated them. He was running on three hours of sleep with a research project due in by the end of the week. The only thing keeping him awake was the inescapable smell of burnt coffee.

He pushed the regular latte across the counter, because– unless he was going deaf from the incessant jazz music— that was definitely what the blonde woman had ordered.

"I'm sure you asked for this regular latte—"

"No, I did not! I don't drink full fat milk!" (He noticed how she said "don't" rather than "can't".)

"I swear, it tastes almost identical to skinny latte," Clark said desperately.

He cast a wary glance at the queue forming behind the woman. Most of them were students by the looks of it, and— oh, brilliant— Clark's geology tutor, Professor Kumar had joined the line as well. If anyone had hoped to grab a drink before their next class, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Clark's attention returned to the woman. She had shoved the latte cup straight back at him, spilling some of its contents.

She demanded, "Do you know how many calories are in this thing?"

"About thirty percent more than there are in a skinny latte," Clark muttered.

Her mascara-sheathed eyes narrowed. She didn't appreciate his tone.

Here we go.

"I want to speak to a manager!"

Speak of the devil and he will appear…

Jonah materialised at the end of the counter. "Something the matter, Miss?" He flashed a dazzling white smile at her. For Clark, it seemed like he was bearing fangs.

"Yes, there is!" She pointed at the plain latte as if it was poison. "I specifically ordered a skinny latte—"

"—But this man gave you a regular one?" Jonah assumed. He glared at Clark.

"Oh, come on…" Clark huffed. He gazed at the other customers helplessly. (Surely Professor Kumar would vouch for him?) Clark called, "You all heard her, right? She just asked for a 'latte'…"

His plea was mainly answered with shrugs and shuffling feet. A few people nodded, but it was so slight that they might have been stretching their necks. Professor Kumar was busy studying his pocket watch. No one was going to defend him.

Sighing, Clark turned back to Jonah and the blonde woman. So much for putting his foot down…

He started to apologise, but someone shouted over him, "I'M SORRY!"

Clark, Jonah and the customers stared as a woman with curly brown hair dashed up to the counter.

Clark recognised her— how could he not with those angel wings and that top hat?

Earlier, she had bought a bag of peanuts and Clark had to restrain himself from asking if she was part of the Larp society. (Not that Clark knew anything about that sort of thing.)

What was she doing…?

"I'm so sorry," the angel repeated, barging past Jonah and the blonde woman to reach the counter. "I ordered a regular latte with my food— I must have left it up here!"

Jonah hummed. "Really?"

"Really." She beamed up at Clark. "Thank you for keeping it warm for me."

"N-no problem…"

The coffee was lukewarm at best now, but Clark passed it to her anyway. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. Her hands were as soft as the feathers on her back, whereas Clark's were calloused from working at excavation sites.

For once, Clark's smile wasn't forced. It was shy and hopeful. Please come again…

And then Jonah opened his gob. "You still owe this poor lady a skinny latte, Triton."

"Right…" He made the skinny latte with practiced ease, his eyes perusing the coffee shop until he spotted his saviour. Sat alone on one of the comfier chairs, she was pouring through a sheaf of papers and mumbling to herself.

Clark wasn't fazed when the blonde woman flounced away with her skinny latte, or even when Jonah hissed that they would have a 'chat' later.

As soon as Clark's shift ended, Jonah dragged him out to the office, lectured him on his poor customer service skills and ordered him to clean the coffee machine for the fifth time that week.

Clark didn't care at all. The second he was dismissed, he threw off his apron and darted back out to the shop.

Mabel hadn't shown up for her shift yet. Typical...

Clark checked Jonah was still in the office before he nipped behind the counter and grabbed a chocolate brownie from the food shelves. Staff weren't supposed to take snacks for themselves during work hours (something Clark had learned the hard way when he was being trained).

If Jonah caught him swiping food— even though it wasn't technically Clark's shift anymore— Clark would be fired on the spot, and he wouldn't be able to pay his rent. (He was not asking Hershel for help again.)

He stashed the brownie in a paper bag and chucked three pounds into the till. Jonah would be none the wiser.

Looking around the coffee shop, Clark was dismayed to discover that she was gone…

No, wait— she had just gotten up to throw her rubbish away. Now she was leaving.

"Hey!" he hollered, running after her. He followed her out to one of the study areas next to the coffee shop. "Hold on a minute…!"

She stopped and turned, so startled that she nearly dropped her papers.

"Indoor voice," Hershel would have reminded him. And, more importantly, "A gentleman should never offend a lady."

"Sorry…" Clark held the brownie bag up to her. "I just wanted to say— thank you for saving me back there. I'm Clark, by the way."

"Brenda," she replied, smiling. "It wasn't fair of that girl to harass you. Did she get her skinny latte in the end?"

"Yes, but she didn't look very happy about it."

Brenda laughed with him. Then she regarded him sympathetically. "And was everything okay with your boss afterwards?"

"He stuck me with cleaning duty," Clark snorted. "Nothing new. It would have been a lot worse if you hadn't stepped in. So…" He offered her the bag and he was struck with the wild urge to to bow. "Here's a free brownie. It's on the house!"

"Oh…" Brenda covered her cheeks with her hands, trying to hide a blush. "Sorry— that's nice of you but I'm, uh, vegan, and there are eggs in brownies…"

"Vegan?" Clark had never known a vegan before— well, never one that he really liked. Vegetarians, he could understand, having been one himself as a child. (It was quite unnerving when he could talk to the animals that might one day end up on his plate.)

Vegans, on the other hand, were so often pretentious and hypocritical. Sure, they refused to consume animal products, but what if they 'needed' a pair of leather shoes or a fox fur scarf?

Brenda didn't appear to be wearing anything like that, but then—

"Hang on," Clark remembered, "didn't you have that latte— with milk?"

"I threw it away, actually."

"Right, sorry." He rubbed his stubble sheepishly. (Maybe Hershel was right— he should shave it off…) "You didn't have to do that for me. Doesn't it go against your morals, paying for milk—?"

"It would go against my morals to ignore someone in need," she retorted.

"Thank you," Clark said once again. "I guess I'll keep the brownie… but do you want to, um, get dinner sometime? We can go to an all-vegan restaurant—"

Much to his relief, she laughed. "There are plenty of 'normal' restaurants that do vegan options!"

"Still, it's your choice," he insisted. "Could I get your number?"

"I… don't actually have a phone yet," Brenda admitted, adjusting her top hat. "We're still setting that up at home, along with the telly…"

"Have the TV licensing people come for your soul yet?" Clark whispered, utterly serious.

"They've passed our door a few times," Brenda chuckled, "but my flatmate has built an alarm system to scare them off."

"Your flatmate must be a genius."

"She really is, but she's always running late— Oh, pooh! Now I'm late…!"

"Late for what?" Clark wondered as she stuffed her papers into her white messenger bag.

"My dress rehearsal!"

That explained the angel costume… "Don't tell me you're a Drama student?"

"Nope—" She flung her bag over her shoulder. "—Geography… I'm just with the Drama Society. I have to go now, but could we meet here again tomorrow, same time?"

Clark nodded. "I'll check when I'm working. Good luck with your dress rehearsal?"

"Thanks, bye!"

"Thank you…" Clark said for the third time as she rushed off to the theatre. From a distance and with her speed, she almost looked like she was flying.

Maybe she wasn't a literal angel, but Clark would quit if he was put on the late shift tomorrow.


End file.
